Pick ME!!!

“Close your eyes, ladies… Imagine the role that you want. The role that you dream of dancing, and have been working towards all year…”

Ballerinas, age 10-18, are standing in their studio, about to embark on auditions for their annual Christmas program, a retelling of the Nutcracker, but while they are wearing mouse heads. (trust me- it’s awesome.) 

The young dancers stand there with their eyes closed, each imagining themselves pirouetting their way to stardom.

“Think of yourself dancing your dream role…” the studio director continues.

And then:

“Most of you will NOT get that part.”

This scenario happened to my niece, as she dreamed young prima ballerina dreams.

She did not get the part she wanted.

I have another niece who plays soccer. And she is SO good. She had high school try-outs this week, and ran circles around the other girls. Literally. There were speed tests where she smoked everyone. She made several goals during scrimmage games.  It was in the bag.

The team list was posted last night, and her name was not on it.

The reasoning from the coach?  She plays left wing, but is right footed.  He admitted that she was one of the best- that she was faster and more aggressive than all the girls there. But he only chooses left footed left wings.

In High School I was in Drama Club, and I tried out for every single play. All of my closest friends got the main parts. I always got call backs, but my name was never on the cast list.

In PE I was always one of the last one picked. An introvert who lacks athletic coordination is the kiss of death when combined with choosing the winning team.

Something I have learned in my 30 something(mumble mumble) years is that we don’t always get the part we want.

Sometimes you imagine a certain scenario, and sometimes the reality is completely different.

Sometimes we sit there expectantly, waiting, while others are put in the game.

And sometimes we don’t get to play at all.

And sometimes the reasons why are not very good ones.

Sometimes you just kick with your right foot.

MANDRAKE: Ode To Manny

Last week my sister's poor little cat died. She was old, and lived a good cat life. My sister called me, crying, and asked for my help,  and so of course I went. The next hour was sad and absurd and disturbing all at the same time, as we wrapped its little body in a towel, and drove it to the vet.

And after that adventure, of course I reflected on my stupid feline.

Mandrake never had health problems. Mandrake never went to the vet. He went for an afternoon to the Humane Society to be “fixed” 10 years ago, and that was that.

Until last year. 

Last year Mandrake was lying listless on the ground for days. He wouldn’t move, eat, anything. And this is not a usually mellow cat. It is not a friendly cat. If you come within 4 feet of him, all you will see is a flash of black, with a small tuft of fur on the carpet as the only clue that he used to be close to you. You cannot pet him with your hands. He will only sometimes allow you to pet him with your feet. (I know, it's weird.) My sister and niece have watched him and fed him as I travel for work, and they saw him only once, as he lashed out with his claws, growling and hissing, from the depths of my closet.  

So this lethargy, this allowing me to pet him, lay by him, mess with him, was obviously out of character. I knew this silly, stupid cat was not ok.

And, in turn, I was embarrassingly not ok.

I would only need to look at him languidly lying in the middle of the room and I would begin to cry. When it became apparent that he needed medical care, I had to call several vets, because as I would describe the symptoms on the phone I would burst into tears. Then, appalled and embarrassed at my own behavior, I would hang up and call the next one. I found a vet that made house calls for a reasonable price, as I knew my cat was not a crate-able cat. All the vet managed to do was give him a quick antibiotic shot, and both me and the good Doctor had severe battle wounds from the process.

Later that evening, there was no improvement. I had borrowed a cat health encyclopedia from my dear neighbors (the epitome of cat ladies, who have an urn filled with a past cat’s ashes, complete with it’s paw print in ceramic on the lid sitting on their mantle) and as I read about all the different possible ailments, my anxiety was unbearable. So I borrowed a carrier (a true testament to how lousy Manny felt was how he just walked into the cage) and took him to the animal ER. I hadn’t known until that evening that such a thing even existed.

$400, and a few hours later, I had a cat with 10 stitches on it’s rear from a huge abscess. They gave me some pain medication (aka cat tranquilizer) and sent me on my way. And for the next week my house was transformed into a cat rehabilitation center. My bed turned into a cat hospital bed, I dealt with giving medicine, bringing disgusting food to him, placing warm compresses on the wound site, and the terrible Cone of Shame.

And while dealing with the ridiculous time and money that this had taken I had to think about why I was even doing this for a cat. A cat that will not likely even live all that much longer. (except that he will, because he is going to live forever...)

I’ve had Mandrake, aka Manny, for 12 years now. 12 years, of which I’ve worked in 9 different locations, lived in 5 different houses, had ups and downs and changes and heartaches.

And the thing about this cat is that through all of this he exhibits the ONE characteristic I am searching for in a potential boyfriend/husband/mate.

He is FIERCELY loyal.

This cat does not like anyone.

Any other living thing is worthy of hissing at, hiding from, and all the true distain that only a cat can show.

But this cat LOVES me.

This cat has attacked roommates, he has peed on my best friend's bed when she came to stay, he has been difficult and mean and cranky.

But never to ME.  To me he has to lay directly on top of me. He has to sit right by me, touching me. He has to be in the same room I’m in. He has to sleep with me at night. If I’m gone for a few days, he’ll follow me around mewing his displeasure at my absence, but then sit on me, purring loud enough to wake the dead as soon as he gets the chance.

This dumb cat loves me more than he loves any other living thing on earth, a role thus far reserved for a significant other, but as of yet unfulfilled in my life.  And while I realize a cat cannot truly fulfill that role, and I realize it is a slippery slope as a single lady with a cat, I get why us old single ladies have them.

Unabashed Adoration.

My Holy Grail.

This cat, this silly, temperamental, ridiculous cat, will have to do for now. 

Peas and Carrots, or The Friend Zone

The Friend Zone is a place that I know well. 

I have my own parking spot, and have lived there (somewhat) comfortably for most of my life.

I’ve had visitors now and again, that seemed like they were interested in having me leave the area, but upon further inspection, they were happy I was there.

And so I have settled in.

The thing is, I’m really good at being peoples friends. (Please note: This is not said in sarcastic font!  What I apparently suck at it beyond. But just friendship- That is what I do!)

All through High School I was in LOVE with a friend from church. We went out once, the summer after my Freshman year at BYU, after being friends for years, and I was ecstatic. He never asked me out again, and a few weeks later started dating the girl he ended up marrying. And I am still his friend.

After High School I hung out with the same guy every day for about three years straight. He was my best friend. We watched movies, ate Taco Bell, and played video games. He taught me about the rules of football through Madden 2000 on PS2. About 10 months in I confessed a crush, he let me down, and then we went on hanging out EVERY DAY for years after that.  And I am still his friend.

In college I dated a guy for months upon months,  who abruptly stopped talking to me at all. Like one day we were making out hanging out, and the next day we weren’t. And I am still his friend.

These are just a select few- there are more. But as you can see, this Friend Zone is a place I know. Perhaps it’s stupidity. Perhaps it's naivety. Perhaps I’m too loyal. 

But once I care about you, I don’t stop.

Reciprocity be damned.

I go to the Friend Zone, and I settle in.

And so, hypothetically speaking, when an old flame friend asks you about your dating life over lunch, pointedly not making eye contact while he fishes out the peas and carrots from his fried rice, you may settle in a little deeper.  And when he asks if his reoccurring character has made any recent appearances on your blog, you may laugh, and settle in a little deeper.

…Hypothetically speaking…

But here’s the thing. And here’s why I truly am perfectly fine with this:

Once you've already mourned that loss, and expectations are off the table, and all you are left with is a person that you really care about and connect to, it’s okay to settle in....

And maybe they have a single friend.

I JUST MET YOU, AND THIS IS CRAZY, BUT HERE'S MY NUMBER, SO KEEP EMAILING ME, MAYBE?

In the last four months I have probably given my phone number out to at least 100 guys, between all the many technological dating helps I am privy to. 

But a weird thing keeps happening- Several keep emailing, even after I give my number. I gave one guy my number three times, and he continued to email.  

There are a lot who have texted me. 

There are a few who have said they’d like to meet.

There are a few who have said they’d like to meet, and when I said when, I never hear from them again.  

I had one that I was going to meet, and we had a day and time arranged, but when I didn’t immediately reply when he suggested the place, he informed me that he made other plans, and I never heard from him again. 

I’ve had 156 matches on Tinder. 

I’ve had conversations with 53 of them. 

I’ve gone out with 4 of them.

I went on a date with Santa Clause recently. 

He was jolly, rosy cheeked, with a nicely groomed beard, and a kind of giggle when he laughed. The whole evening I was with him I kept thinking, “Who does he remind me of?” and as I drove home, it hit me. He was Kris Kringle.  If Kris Kringle was 35, single, and living in Salt Lake City.  We had fun. He was easy to talk to. He said maybe 10 times, “You are SO fun!” and I thought to myself, “I KNOW! It’s about freaking time someone realized it!” He made reference to us hanging out again- to driving up Millcreek Canyon, to seeing new movies, and to going to Comic-Con. “That would be fun!” I answered, every time. And he gave good hugs, which is a rarity, and is a super plus in my book.

A few days after I texted him, and said thanks again for a fun evening.

His Response:

“Yes! I think your great! I just get frustrated with the whole      dating thing. Not sure how to make more friends. I have been accused of being a flirt and leading girls on. So I don’t want to do that. But I do want to make more friends and get together with those friends often. Going to movies alone is no fun. But leading girls on is no fun either. Any advice?”

Friend Zoned.

My reply:
Sorry. If I had any good advice, I wouldn’t still be single…  ;) Any time you need a movie buddy, I’m your gal!

I haven’t heard from him since.

I went on a date with a security officer for the LDS church recently. 

He seemed interesting, and conversation flowed easily. His online profile said, “If you contact me, I will ask you out, so be ready.” So I sent the first message and said, “So when are we going out?” He replied immediately, “How about Wednesday?” 

I gave him kudos for spontaneity, and cutting to the chase. After what I thought had been a pleasant dinner, he informed me that he had to leave, to get to Provo within the hour.

Him: “Because a friend of mine let me know that her divorce is official today, so we can finally hang out!! It’s pretty great.”

Me: “Um…OK… Cool?”

And as we parted ways, he didn’t even give me so much as a handshake as he went on to his next date.

I haven't heard from him since.

I went on a date with a realtor recently.  

He was nice, and lunch was delicious. But goodness, our conversation did NOT flow. Awkward silences. Thumb twiddling. And then, at one point, after an uncomfortably long silence:

Him:  “So…. Do you have any pets?”

Me: too eagerly, “I have a scrappy black cat named Mandrake!”

Him: … “I’m allergic to cats.”

And then, he began to tell me all about another girl he met online.

I haven't heard from him since. 

I went on a second date recently. 

I don’t get a lot of second dates, so it is significant. 

So what if the first date was 8 years ago?

I didn’t know this upon meeting him (again), however. I was doing my due diligence, and Internet stalking him (we ALL do it!!!)  a few days before our scheduled date, and discovered a mutual friend on Facebook. I immediately emailed her, to get the scoop on him.

Her: “Remember you met him at my house several years ago? I set you up and we played games?”

Me:  “NO. WAY. It’s the same guy?!”

I saved this juicy piece of information for the second date. 

After ordering our food I said, “I have a REALLY good story to tell you.” And proceeded to tell him how we went out before.

Two things were very obvious. 

1. He kind of didn’t remember at ALL, but pretended like he did. 

2. He wasn’t as amused by it as I was.  

He was quick to get up to leave, after just 45 minutes together. He walked me to my car, gave me a weak side hug, with a “Nice to meet you.”

“Again!” I said.

And then he walked away saying, “Maybe in another 8 years we can do this again!”

I haven't heard from him since.